Mrs. Simpson was indeed a redoubtable lady, whose virtue shone with a particular high brightness on the Sabbath.  Her lamp was brimming with oil against the judgment day, and she was as one divinely appointed to be the chastener of the unrighteous.  So, at least, Honora beheld her.  Her attire was rich but not gaudy, and had the air of proclaiming the prosperity of Israel Simpson alone as its unimpeachable source:  her nose was long, her lip slightly marked by a masculine and masterful emblem, and her eyes protruded in such a manner as to give the impression of watchfulness on all sides.

It was this watchfulness that our heroine grew to regard as a salient characteristic.  It never slept—­even during Mr. Stopford’s sermons.  She was aware of it when she entered the church, and she was sure that it escorted her as far as the carriage on her departure.  It seemed to oppress the congregation.  And Honora had an idea that if it could have been withdrawn, her cruel proscription would have ended.  For at times she thought that she read in the eyes of some of those who made way for her, friendliness and even compassion.

It was but natural, perhaps, in the situation in which our heroine found herself, that she should have lost her sense of proportion to the extent of regarding this lady in the light of a remorseless dragon barring her only path to peace.  And those who might have helped her—­if any there were—­feared the dragon as much as she.  Mrs. Simpson undoubtedly would not have relished this characterization, and she is not to have the opportunity of presenting her side of the case.  We are looking at it from Honora’s view, and Honora beheld chimeras.  The woman changed, for Honora, the very aspect of the house of God; it was she who appeared to preside there, or rather to rule by terror.  And Honora, as she glanced at her during the lessons, often wondered if she realized the appalling extent of her cruelty.  Was this woman, who begged so audibly to be delivered from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy, in reality a Christian?  Honora hated her, and yet she prayed that God would soften her heart.  Was there no way in which she could be propitiated, appeased?  For the sake of the thing desired, and which it was given this woman to withhold, she was willing to humble herself in the dust.

Honora laid the hospital circular on the desk beside her account book.  She had an ample allowance from Hugh; but lying in a New York bank was what remained of the unexpected legacy she had received from her father, and it was from this that she presently drew a cheque for five hundred dollars,—­a little sacrifice that warmed her blood as she wrote.  Not for the unfortunate in the hospital was she making it, but for him:  and that she could do this from the little store that was her very own gave her a thrill of pride.  She would never need it again.  If he deserted her, it mattered little what became of her.  If he deserted her!